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C12EnUGHT DEPOSm 



STREETS 

AND 

SHADOWS 



By 
MERCEDES de ACOSTA 

Moods 

Archways of Life 

Streets and Shadows 

Wind Chaff 

(A novel) 



STREETS AND SHADOWS 



BY 



MERCEDES de ACOSTA 





KOM-IN 
FEKiOR 

"5 



NEW YORK 

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 

1922 






Copyright, 1922, 

BY 

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 



OCT 18 72 

©C1A683790 



To 

Vouletti Proctor Brown 

beloved and understanding 

friend, 

this volume is 

lovingly and gratefully 

dedicated. 



Acknowledgment is made to ''Poetry: A 
Magazine of Verse, ' ' for permission to 
reprint some of the poems in this volume. 



'Then let me see you stand free and high up!" 

Ibsen's "Master Builder.' 



CONTENTS 

Song op Fifth Avenue 1-5 

Litany of Hands 6 

"For Rent'' 7 

New York „ 8 

Rest 9 

Newspapers 10 

Restaurant 11 

A Bird is Like Freedom 12 

Leaning Out of Windows 13 

Church 14 

Notre Dame 15 

Echoes 16 

Things I Understand... 17 

Manhattan 18 

New York 19 

Night and Rain 20 

To My Mother 21 

Understanding 22 

"SOYEZ Raisonable" 23 

Banner, Flame and Song 24 

To My Mother 25 

Change 26 

Maternity 27 

Day Laborer 28 

Stamp Collectors 29 



CONTENTS (Continued) 

Tides and Clouds 30 

Strange City 31 

My Christ 32 

Good-bye on the Boat 33-34 

Infinite 35 

Lost Ideal 36 

Faithfulness 37 

Bravado 38 

Future Hope 39 

Am I Alone? 40 

Reality 41 

Comrade 42 

Flowers, Devils and Saints 43 

Ami Myself ? 44 

Exhaustion 45 

Crying Out 46 

Insatiate 47 

Our Return 48 

Funeral Procession 49 

Lost Faith _ 50 

Paris Sleeps 51 



STREETS 

AND 

SHADOWS 



SONG OF FIFTH AVENUE 

A LONG thin way 

Drawn like a thread through the heart of the 

city. 
Avenue of rich, of poor — 
Vibrating with color — 
Swaying with humanity 
Beating time with the pulse of Life, 
Suffocated by the pressure of Life, 
Crushed — trampled upon by streaming flows of 

Life. 

Fifth Avenue! 

I will write your song in clatter and din, 

With tramping of feet. 

Endless, ceaseless noise. 

I will write your song in sorrow — ^joy, 

In birth — death. 

In creation — destruction. 

In beauty and ugliness. 

I will sing your song in spite of tradition. 

Careless of tradition. 

I will sing your song of creeds, of races 

Dissolved in one — 

I will sing your song 

In laughter — irony — despair. 

My music will come of all time, 

Reach all time — 

[1] 



As you have come of all time, 

Of all people; 

And with the slenderness of your body. 

The magic of your will — 

Have touched all people. 

Washington Square — 

White arch rising like the ghost of people long 

since dead; 
Memory of fragrant flowers — old laces — 
Sleigh bells and many traces 
Of beauty, love and dreams. 
Now only an arch, but a cross gleams 
On an old brown building. 
Washington Square — 
Symbol of the Past, 
Conceiver of the long thin thread 
Spun from out your heart. 
Now then take your part. 
Following up the blocks and years. 

Watch the weary tramp 

Of sweat workers out for lunch; 

The emptying of buildings where homes once 

stood ; 
Swedes, Armenians, Slavs come pouring forth. 
Merging in the crowd midst stink and sweat. 



[2] 



Sucking in the air for one short hour. 

On the corner blooms a flower 

Carried in a basket by an Italian 

Pushed roughly by an Irish cop, 

Who calls them all 

"A bunch of stinking Yids." 

Then further up I sing — 

Past great shops — great banks, 

Clothes of all description — 

Shoes, dresses, cloaks, stays, 

Jews, Gentiles press their ways 

Swarming cross the Avenue. 

And over all swings the flag. 

From shops with French, German, Italian 

names 
Hangs the Great American Flag! 

Forty-second street- — 

Like a strange automatic animal 

Opening wide his jaws. 

And to the tune of a sharp whistle 

Spitting forth great masses of Life. 

Millions of people rushing over the spine of 

the Avenue 
Calling the system "civilization." 
While high up loom tall buildings. 
Where slender primeval trees once stood, 



[3] 



Bird songs filling the air instead of policemen's 

whistles. 
But I have said I would sing of your beauty, 

too; 
So I remember your magic at twilight, 
White buildings like winged birds flight, 
Flashing thousands of window eyes 
Like stars at night. 
And the radiance of the sun 
Across your face by day; 
Dazzling colors— motors — green buses — 
Life — life on its way 
To death. A funeral passes, 
A pauper begs, a child laughs out, 
But like ants in long tall grasses. 
They pass their way, no one heeding them. 

Then churches — all creeds — 

(Take your choice) 

All spires point to the sky 

All vainly try 

To show us heaven. 

While on the street 

The beggars meet 

And have no homes. 

Then rich houses copied from foreign land; 



m 



French Chateaux, Italian palaces, 

While within great plates of glass stand 

Old master paintings looking out. 

Gazing solemnly on the new world. 

Then further up more rich houses. 

Homes of Jew bankers — rich politicians, 

All with too much food and gold. 

While sitting opposite in the park are old 

Worn out bums, tired of being hungry. 

Further up Mount Sinai Hospital, 

Chloroform fills the breeze 

While in the park from the trees 

The scent of flowers. 

Then further still "Nigger Town," 

Black faces and brown 

Hang from windows and crowd the streets. 

So the long thin thread stretches — 
Stretches — bends 
Then ends. 

Fifth Avenue ends and so my song; 
But over its pavements the blood of Life 
Is flowing on! 



[5] 



LITANY OF HANDS 

Hands — ^millions of hands 

Drawn across the brow of Life, 

Brushing away the sweat of Life, 

Or drooping listlessly by the side of Life. 

Hands of dreamers — passive — white, 

Hands of scientists — ^knotted — steady. 

Hands of surgeons — strong — sure. 

Of poets — sensitive — frail, 

Hands of suicides — nervous — faltering. 

Of laborers — muscular — unfaltering. 

Proclaiming sometimes a lost child of genius. 

Hands of thieves — avaricious — sneaky; 

Hands that destroy flowers — cage wild things. 

Hands of children • 

Groping — reaching into the future. ^ 

Hands of old people — quiet — tired out. 

Weary of touching life 

Of upholding tumbling castles and dreams. 

Hands of traitors — extended — deceiving, 

Fingering everything with treachery and hes. 

Then magnetic hands — hands of healers. 

Of people who understand; 

Hands of compassion, of forgiveness, 

Haiids that carry the burdens of the world 

Like the hands of Christ! 



[6] 



"FOR RENT" 

There is something terrible 
about houses marked "For Rent" 
and poor devils sleeping in the streets, 
and wanting homes. 

I have never slept in the streets 

or in the parks, 

but if I do 

I hope I shall never see 

empty houses marked "For Rent," 

because it might make me bitter, 

and hateful to my fellow creatures. 



[7] 



NEW YORK 

Buildings endlessly high 

With skeletons of steel — 

Pointed — square — grotesque roofs — 

Thousands of windows 

Like chains of eyes 

Ever watchful — ever condemning. 

Long lines of avenues — 

Ugly straight streets — 

Brick — faded yellow and red — 

Stone — soiled white and brown — 

Flaming letters and signs over everything. 

Then noise — noise — noise — 

Clanking of street cars, 

Roaring of elevated trains, 

Throbbing of motors, 

Shuffling feet — 

People — people — people — 

Distorted congestion of humanity — 

But over all a hideous loneliness — emptiness — 

And everywhere — suffering . . . suffering . . 



[8] 



REST 

You standing against the doorway — 

The boyishness of your slender figure 

Framed in the arch — 

Making a semi-halo around your head — 

Dragging out the shadows — 

Like the wings of fairy butterflies 

Across your face. 

Then we two 

Entering into the house — 

The glowing firelight 

Leaping up to greet us — 

The intimacy of familiar things 

Crowding about us — 

Making our voices low — 

While lodging a tenderness in your eyes 

Creating another warmth within the room. 

Then we turning low the lamps — 

Creeping to bed — 

You coming to my room — saying 

"How wide do you want the window?" 

Then bending low — kissing me — 

Turning at the door — 

Eyes brilliant with vision — 

And with your strong brown hand 

Blowing me a kiss to sleep. 

Then I sinking back 

Knowing I shall taste a rest 

Unutterably sweet! 

[9] 



NEWSPAPERS 

Newspapers circling in the wind. 

Newspapers torn and dirty, 

Trampled under feet, 

Flung aside. 

But perhaps somewhere on their sheets. 

For someone in the world. 

There is printed the beloved's name. 



[lOJ 



RESTAURANT 

INSIDE 

Shrill hum of voices — forced laughter — 

Dimming the plaintive notes of violins. 

Warmth — glittering glare of lights 

Thrown back — 

Reflecting in a hundred mirrors. 

Women — gaudy gowns— flash of jewels on 

breasts — 
Hurrying waiter — overturned milk bottle — 
Discarded chicken — untouched food 
Tossed away. 
Bored faces — 
A woman yawns — hfe is not very gay. . . . 

OUTSIDE 

Shrill roar of the city 

Dimming the silence of the night. 

Cold — amber glare of city lights 

Thrown back — 

Reflecting on the streets. 

A woman in rags holding her baby to her breast 

Dreaming of milk — praying for discarded food 

Tossed away. 

Despairing face — 

The woman coughs — life is not very gay. . . . 



[11] 



A BIRD IS LIKE FREEDOM 

Beautiful are flags 

Straining — whipping in the breeze. 

But I say Freedom is more beautiful 

And not hke flags — 

Which are ever held — restrained. 

Beautiful are trees — rocks — valleys — 

mountains — flowers — 
But they are not as beautiful as Freedom 
And are bound to roots and earth. 
But I say a bird is like Freedom — 
Swift — hght — beautiful — 
And soaring into the sky 
May die in high altitudes 
But perishes of its own free will. 



[12] 



LEANING OUT OF WINDOWS 

Squalid^ dark room — 

Torn, soiled wall paper 

With a broken cheap picture 

Hanging crookedly on the wall. 

Smell of greasy soup — cabbage — 

A tin tea kettle 

Spitting feebly from a small stove 

Where fumes of gas escape 

Stifling all the air. 

A disordered bed — 

Under the dirty sheet 

Three greasy children — 

Brows moist — feverishly whining — 

Beating away flies and mosquitoes. 

From the window, — 

Watching the elevated screech past 

The parents hang 

Gazing on the street. 

Far out they lean 

Like expert acrobats — 

For only leaning far out of windows 

Gives them balance 

And forget fulness. 



[13] 



CHURCH 

INSIDE 

All kneeling 

From the same cup drinking wine- 
Blood of Christ. 

OUTSIDE 

Spitting — chewing gum — cursing — 
The same lips that tasted wine — 
Blood of Christ. 



[14] 



NOTRE DAME 

Notre dame — 

Like a melancholy dreaming poet leaning 

against the sky 
How much Paris owes to you. 
How much owes to your slim fingers — 
Ghost-like — tapering up — 
Tenderly caressing 

The dark velvet cloak of summer nights. 
How much owes to the dehcate network of lace 
Worn across your face — 

The mysterious color of everchanging rainbows 
Sunk in depths of magic glass in the radiance 

of your eyes. 
Paris owes this beauty all to you. 
To you, music of your voice 
The inspiration of peace and prayer! 



[15] 



ECHOES 

(To my mother) 

A BIRD sings outside my window. 

I hear his notes throbbing like a heavenly- 
pulse, 

Vibrating — clear. 

Suddenly he has stopped singing and flown 
away — 

But I still hear his song. 

Your words are like that. 

You are dead 

But I still hear your words. 



[16] 



THINGS I UNDERSTAND 

In the church 

The priest is preaching a sermon — 

The minister is preaching a sermon — 

I do not understand what they are saying. 

But I go out into the street perceiving 

Shadowed patterns cast by the sunhght — 

I see the grey chalk of hunger lined on the 

beggar's face — 
The look of hopeless futility in the street- 
walker's eyes — 
The glorious flame-like rhythm of a child's body 
As it leaps in motion across the street. 
These things I understand. 



[17] 



MANHATTAN 

Foreign cities have age and tradition 

to draw from — 
You have only your youth. 
But I love your youth 
And the diversity of your profile 
Outlined against the sky — 
And your feet — ever wet — 
Recklessly wading in the sea waves. 



[18] 



NEW YORK 

DAY 

Cold grey houses — ugly streets — 

Iron — steel — mud — 

Torn-down buildings — dust — dirt — 

Congested traffic 

Like swarms of mighty ants paralyzed together. 

NIGHT 

Fairy city touched by stars 
With tall ghosts holding candles. 
Spirit of dreams with onyx shadows 
And the kiss of the moon across its face. 



[19] 



NIGHT AND RAIN 

{Fifth Avenue) 

Sleek streets — 

Pavements slippery — shimmering — wet. 
A slow drizzle — 
Distorted buildings 
Leaping from the greyness — 
Their edges sharp — strong — 
Then dimmed — lost. 
Amber signal lights 
With rays sucked through the mist — 
Changing green — red — mist again. 
Dark motors 
In funeral procession 
Proclaiming the mighty city's order — 
Creeping slowly along — 
Stopping — creeping again. 
While on the pavements 
Yellow reflections of lamps — 
Crimson blood spots of tail Hghts 
And black shadows of men and women- 
Apprehensive — hurrying along — 
Stripped of all personality 
With only their pale, white faces 
Showing them up — 
Reporting their existence 
From out the blackness of the night. 

[20] 



I 



TO MY MOTHER 

You were so essentially yourself; — 

So true to all real things — 

Touched alike by beauty of soul and face, 

A rare flower of the old Spain. 

I know indeed 

I shall not see your like again. 



L21] 



UNDERSTANDING 

From out the congested crowd 1 

I see a tear worn face. 1 

Our eyes meet — 

Suddenly — 

Without a word we are comrades. . . 

I have lost him in the crowd — 
But not before he has known 
I would like to have kissed 
His tear worn face. 



[22J 



"SOYEZ RAISONABLE" 

Across the square a crowd — 

In the midst two figures — 

A woman dressed in rags — starved — drunk — 

A man dripping in poverty 

Helplessly trying to lead the woman home 

who fights him off. 
In the witchery of the night these tragic figures 
Stand out in hopeless dignity of despair, 
While shadows of various emotions 
Chase recklessly across the face of the crowd. 
Suddenly a policeman appears — 
Well fed — fat — rosy — 
Dispersing the bystanders 
He jerks his belt across his swelling belly — 
With an air — pleased — satisfied — 
Twists his moustache to the crowd 
And to the drunken woman says — 
"Circulez Madame" et "Soyez raisonable!" 



[23] 



BANNER, FLAME AND SONG 

I WILL build a mighty banner with dazzling 

colors 
Holding it high before me. 
I will heap burning fagots on my shoulders 
So that far away my flame will be seen; 
I will sing a glorious song 
Whose words and rhythm will always be the 

same. 

On my banner will be inscribed the word 

"Freedom." 
My flame will be the star of Freedom; — 
My song will ever be the song of Freedom. 



[24] 



TO MY MOTHER 

Quiet is your voice. 

Men say you will never speak again. 

Yet, is it not your voice I hear, 

Your voice vibrating through my heart 

Teaching me better than I am, 

Showing me humility and Love, 

Making me beheve in God? 



L25] 



CHANGE 

Some one for whom I had a great passion 
Now sleeps in this room with some one else — 
There are traces of me in many objects — 
The books I gave and fingered are lying 

on the shelf, 
And an old picture whose land I lived in and 

whose hills I sped. 
Is still hanging facing my old bed. 

So times change — 
But love goes on — 
Like a bird that is dead 
Yet whose song. 
Lives on forever. 



[26] 



MATERNITY 

In the Italian quarter on the East side, 
A woman trembles in pain delivering a baby. 
In the room four other children howl, 
While on her face is a look of hopeless resig- 
nation. 
There is no haste to get well because it will 
all happen again. 

Up town 

A woman trembles in pain from an abortion. 
There is haste to get well and it will 
never happen again. 



[27] 



DAY LABORER 

Massive shoulders 
Convulsed with muscle — 
A bright red blouse 
Standing out like a scarlet wound, 
Across the breast of the snow. 
Easy swing and handling of the shovel; 
Brown face and hands 
Proclaiming warmer skies. 
Brown face and hands. 
Sad — alien — ^amidst Northern whiteness. 
And a voice and song that sing of 
Southern lands. 



[28] 



STAMP COLLECTORS 

{Avenue Marigny) 

Sitting on the chairs 

Their bodies curved and crooked — 

Like ancient turtles crouched on jagged rocks — 

The stamp collectors gather. 

Old men — httle boys — 

Weird women — quaint, spoiled httle girls 
with wistful eyes — 

All breathless and intent upon their business. 

Through their fingers slip little squares of 
color — 

Blue — green — red — gold — 

New stamps — faded, old — 

And rare ones beyond measure. 

Fugitively they move — 

These stamp collectors — 

And with lustful eyes 

Watch the bidding of their neighbors. 

While sometimes — in their midst but all un- 
noticed 

A stamp flutters to the ground — 

Exuding the breath of alien people 

And the romance of countries far away. 



[29] 



TIDES AND CLOUDS 

Tides ebb, then come again, 

And with the last refrain 

Of the dying wave, 

I know I hear your name. 

Deep in the turmoil of the foam 

It seems to be; 

Borne across the water, 

Thrown back from out the sea, 

And at last striking shore 

And reaching me! 

In the fringe and outline of the clouds 

I see your face; 

A drawn profile against the space 

Of Infinity. 

While in my heart the pain 

Forever and forever the same 

Of your memory! 



[30] 



STRANGE CITY 

STRANGE city. 

City wherein I am a stranger. 

1 look down at you from this high window 
And watch the contour of your face 
Pressed against the night sky. 

I see a tower rising in the distance, 
Pale, thin, with a faint light flickering 

from its eyes — 
Like a tired woman 
Wearied with incessant clamoring of voices 

she does not understand. 
I see a clock whose face stands out 

silvery and ghost-like, 
Passing its slender hands across its face. 
And feeling the breath of time as it slips 

between its fingers. 
I see black roofs 
Like crouching beetles, 
And endless streets 
Fading into the night. 

Then far away and deep within the distance — 
Looms a corner of the sea. 
Strange city with your harbor, streets and 

houses, 
I am lonely. Befriend me! 



[31] 



MY CHRIST 

Christ is roaming on the street, 
I feel His glance as I meet 
The passer-by. And yet they say 
Christ is dead and passed away. 

I would not have Him living more to me 
Than this Christ I daily see; 
The love of Him in every ray of sun, 
The good of Him in each and everyone. 



[32] 



GOOD-BYE ON THE BOAT 

Early morning — 

Rising. 

A dead, hopeless feeling about my heart. 

Going out — cold air on my face — 

Crossing the ferry with the others 

And at the boat 

Finding you in the crowd. 

Hundreds of faces — 

Pushing humanity — 

Staggering porters 

Burdened with heavy luggage 

Groping up the gangway. 

Voices everywhere — 

An onrush of meaningless — empty words. 

Confused orders — repeated directions. 

You and I standing in it all 

Helpless — hopeless — 

Trying to seem indifferent before the others, 

And like the rest saying 

Trivial — futile things. 

A shrill whistle — 

I calmly saying 

"I think we had better go." 



[33] 



Kissing you lightly — coldly — 

And with the others leaving you. 

Going off the pier 

My throat closed with pain — 

Eyes dim — staggering just a little. 

Then standing in the front of the ferry 

Trying not to seem crushed — 

With the confusion past 

The hideous realization 

That you have really gone 

Comes over me- — 

The desperate regret 

For all the trivial things I said, 

And because I did not kiss you 

The way I wanted. 



[34] 



INFINITE 

If I should love you less 
You would still be my life. 

If I should love you more 

I would have no need of God. 



[35J 



LOST IDEAL 

To have returned and found you changed. 

To have left you trembHng from my touch- 

With smouldering fires in your eyes — 

Now to find your flame 

Burning at another's altar. 

Yet how strange — 

With this change 

No storm of jealousy rages me. 

Only a sad regret — 

That in all your words of fidelity 

Sworn so true — 

In our friendship now — 

So strained — so new — 

The truth stabs me — 

I am a finer thing than you! 



[36J 



FAITHFULNESS 

You are changed. 

I love you for your change — 

Your progress — mastering of yourself. 

But I do not love you the less 

For all you were. 

You must remember 

It was that you 

Whom I first loved. 



[37J 



BRAVADO 

You are forever tossing your glove 

Into the face of Life — 

Daring — challenging — 

Waiting with madness in your eyes 

For the returning blow. 

In reality — 

You are nothing but a small child 

Parading about 

On a little stage of your own, 

Longing for some one to love you. 



[38] 



FUTURE HOPE 

One day- 
There will be no such words as evil and good. 
While compassion — struggle will be understood ; 
Pestilence — horror off Life's path steer, 
And flaming horses crush down fear. 
The Angel of Courage will ride this way 
Making blacker night and lighter day; 
Upholding love, slaying hate. 
Flinging wide the bolted iron gate 
That imprisons Freedom — ^kills all Light, 
Puts bars on windows — stops the flight 
Of all wild things. Then God coming with 

burning eye — 
Tearing a jagged opening in the sky. 
Shaking the earth with fury layer by layer. 
Leaving only forgiveness — understanding there! 



[39] 



AM I ALONE? 

I AM alone — ^yet — 

I feel I am not alone. 

How do I know that a hundred unseen spectres 

Are not pressing round me? 

Or that a dear dead friend 

Is not kneeling at my side 

With lips touching my hand 

And mutely trying to speak my name? 



[40] 



REALITY 

Tonight 

Understanding has leapt between us. 

For the first time we have emerged together 

From out the mist 

And become real people to each other. 

O ! how strange — 

The gate swinging upon this reality 

Found a knife within your hand 

To fling at me. 

Striking my heart 

It has not lessened your reality — 

But it has spilled blood 

Upon which — 

Some day I may slip. 



[41] 



COMRADE 

I AM gone beyond being your lover — ^your 

mistress. 
That was when I did not understand Love — 
Now I understand it — 
And so, I am your comrade. 



[42] 



FLOWERS, DEVILS AND SAINTS 

I WOULD caution you only to be yourself. 

If you are a lily 

Do not paint your petals so as to be a rose. 

Or if you are a devil do not try to be a saint ; 

Since you may find 

That devils are made mostly from the stuff of 

saints. 
And that roses lose their color 
Fading sooner than lilies. 
So I tell you again 
Be always yourself. 
Through being yourself 
You will convince 
You have a right to be yourself. 



[43] 



AM I MYSELF? 

The world is passing through me. 

All life with noiseless key 

Turns the lock of my soul passing therein. 

Sometimes while sitting pondering 

Crossing the back of my brain 

A shadow passes. 

A shadow of some sorrow far away. 

Twisting my heart, I feel this sorrow more than 

they 
Who first created it. 
O tortured brain of mine 
That still is me yet can divine 
The anguish of all others; 
That must share day and night 
Sadness of the world and delight 
In joys I do not know. 
Am I some other self? If so — 
Am I myself, or am I but the wind 
Of all destinies that have been and still will be, 
Vibrations of sorrow and joy 
Expressing themselves through me? 



[44] 



EXHAUSTION 

If you should come to me tonight 

And say "I love you after all" 

Could I, who am so tired hear you call, 

Or would it not surely seem 

Just the echo of a dream? 

If you should come to me tonight 

And say "I love you." 



[45J 



CRYING OUT 

Silence — silence — 

Apprehensive stillness. 

Then from out the greyness of the night 

A sad prolonged whistle 

Like the frenzied wailing of a soul 

Twisted — deformed — despairing — 

Realizing all horrors 

Forever dreaded. 

Like the wailing of a soul — 

My soul — 

Crying out to you 

In the silence — apprehensive stillness 

And greyness of the night. 



[46] 



INSATIATE 

I AM not afraid of love — 

Nor am I afraid of its consequences. 

Only am I afraid that in meeting love 

I may remain insatiate — 

And the spirit still long for something greater. 



[47] 



OUR RETURN 

After our wanderings 

We have once more come back to your house. 

I remember how last we saw it — 

In a ghost-hke mist of apple blossoms — 

The moist lips of springtime pressing on your 

face. 
Now we have returned to see the fruit. 
Red apples — like flaming sunsets — 
Trembling on the trees — 
Dropping at your feet. 

So in four long — short months — 
I witness the whirling evolution 
In the season's changing of your life. 
Where I saw you gathering blossoms 
I now see you bearing fruit. 

The fruit of Truth— 

And beauty of measured fearlessness. 



[48] 



FUNERAL PROCESSION 

A FUNERAL is passing. 

In the coffin 

Lies the body of a man or woman — 

The sex does not matter now — 

Since the soul understanding and sexless 

Has gone its way. 

Or perhaps it is in our midst — 

And watching the man who lifts his hat 

And bows his head so reverently. 



[49] 



LOST FAITH 

The confessional is empty, 

Worn — mellowed — 

In glorious old colors 

Is the marble where the penitent has knelt. 

Slowly I approach and marvel 

At the place where I too once knelt. 

Then reverently approaching — 

(I — who no longer believe) 

Bend and kiss the marble 

Where those who still believe 

Will come and kneel. 



[50] 



PARIS SLEEPS 

Paris sleeps. 

Encircled in loving arms 

Safely the wives rest in the night. 

While on the streets — 

Lonely and diseased 

The harlots march looking for their prey- 

And praying for the day! 



151] 



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